Dawn Marie of the Dead
by Knorg
Summary: Amongst the many ideas for WWE produced movies is my suggestion of a post-modern zombie movie. It’s unlikely to ever get made, as WWE Creative wouldn’t know a good idea if it bit them on the rear - and then ate their brains. Instead, have this fic!


"…are advised to stay in their houses while my officers deal with the crisis. We have the situation under full control and there is nothing to worry about as long as you stay secure." 

The news report continued, watched by a crowded locker room of wrestlers, production staff, writers, agents and the woman who made the tights. Stephanie and Hunter were there, doing their best not to catch Smackdown cooties while carrying out their backroom jobs. There were three hours before the arena was due to open to let in the herd of fans hungry for pro-wrestling action. The World Wrestling Federation might be labouring under its panda induced WWE gimmick, but they could still draw.

"Shit. I bet people fall for this crap and stay home tonight. I'll be the first to defend Texans, but this is pretty damn convincing." John Bradshaw Layfield, commented even more pissed than he'd normally be. Texas was his home state, and he didn't want to see his latest homecoming fucked up by a hoax. The dead walking the earth was such a damn movie cliché, though he thought it was better than a Martian invasion hoax. Only yankees would fall for something like that.

A few of the younger superstars looked nervous – JBL in a bad mood and talking about crap usually meant they'd need to keep an eye on their bags.

Triple H took charge of the demoralised group, "Right. We'll get onto the sheriff's department, find out what the hell is going down with this and get a broadcast out if it is a hoax. We should on the bright side – we've had very good ticket sales for this event. Lot of fans bought tickets in advance since we announced the main event and the cage match. Worst comes to the worst, we'll sue the hoaxers. Now, come on, only a few hours to go. Everyone get to it."

The nearby shops really seemed deserted. Dawn Marie had left the arena for some fresh air and was completely unaware of the zombie panic slowly sweeping the country. Still, she was doing better than a lot of the former diva search contestants who were barely aware of the date or the name of the president. Dawn Marie thought that valets with a genuine love of the business were much better for the shows than girls who'd had to have intensive training in the OVW school to walk and talk at the same time. At least two of them had nearly quit under the strain.

Paul Heyman, who was sweating mightily under the hot Texan sun, accompanied her on her walk. She knew he felt guilty that his known love of her work seemed to count against her in the eyes of Stephanie, who'd never quite grasped that ideas of ECW origin had been integral in the success of the Attitude era. The general opinion was a swap might be in order – send Stephanie to write for soap opera Passions, and get the Chimpanzee back in her place. Improvement in the product was guaran-damn-teed.

"Reverse psychology, that's how I've got to go about it. I told them Heidenreich had less ability to carry a match than Big Al. Hell, I don't know… You could call him enhancement talent – 'cos every time he works a show everyone else looks better."

Dawn Marie smiled dutifully, but truthfully didn't have much time for bitching about talent behind their backs. She tended to keep her critical thoughts to herself.

"Hey! The door's open on that ice cream joint."

"This place is a goddamn ghost town. Come on, I'll buy you a cone." The fat man failed to add, 'and buy myself three.' As they walked down the street the strains of Metalica's Hero of the day rose in volume, coming from inside the local ice cream outlet. Paul wondered if the owner had noise complaints, playing music at that volume. As they stopped outside the doorway, it was clear that someone had trashed the place. Tables and chairs were in disarray, melted ice cream was smeared across the floor and a single one-eyed teddy bear lay abandoned in the middle of all the mess.

"…I guess someone didn't care for the ice cream."

The radio was on the floor, having seemingly been knocked off the counter. Paul guessed that it was simply so sturdy that rather than break, the volume control had been knocked up. Dawn Marie walked into the middle of the ice cream place and looked around for the phone. She intended to call the cops.

"There's someone down there!" Paul crossed the floor surprisingly fast for a man of his bulk. He saw arm sticking out from behind the counter, unmoving. Reaching the downed parlour owner, he dropped to his knee and reached down to feel for a pulse. As a man who'd watched Barbed Wire, flaming brands, baseball bats and even Bob Holly in a wrestling ring, he was no stranger to seeing the nasty. However, as a human being he felt disturbed by the bloody body before him, a middle-aged man with streaks of grey in his short black hair. Hair that was now spotted with blood.

"He's been bitten?" questioned Paul, revising his first impression that the attack might have been race related. He couldn't imagine white supremacist assholes trying to bite a black guy. Not that they didn't have that level of animal stupidity, but he'd never heard of it.

Dawn Marie stood behind the kneeling Paul with her back to the half-open back room door, and saw that the phone was on the floor behind the counter. Smashed. She really wished she hadn't left her cell back at the arena, but she hadn't thought she'd need it on a short walk. Paul shifted his weight to stand up, when the milky eyes of the downed man flickered open.

"Hey! Thought you were dead! You had us worried!"

No longer capable of rational thought, the zombified man looked up into the relieved face of the most intelligent man employed by Vince McMahon.

"Brains…."

The zombie groaned out the word, reaching up towards Paul.

"What? No, you're thinking of Bobby HeenAAARRGHH! GET OFF!"

Dawn Marie saw Paul's head grabbed on both sides, and watched as he quickly lost his balance and tumbled forward. She heard a sick crack as his head smashed into the cold tile floor of the parlour.

"Paul!" Dawn shouted out the name, charging forward and trying to pull her friend away from the man on the floor. She lacked the strength to even slightly budge Heyman's unconscious bulk, even with fear adrenaline surging into her system. She pulled on his arm and watched in sick horror as the groaning ice cream man pulled Paul's hat to one side and started clawing at his skull.

"No! Stop that you bastard!" She looked around wildly for something, anything to help… A Chair! Dawn Marie leaped over a fallen table to get the nearest folding chair, and then carried the silver metal seat back around to the counter. The site there sickened her; Paul was clearly beyond help, while the parlour owner no longer had interest in eating ice cream. Dawn Marie fought the urge to vomit as she raised the chair high above her pretty head, and then brought it down hard on the skull of the zombie. A loud clang resounded around the small parlour, and the zombie groaned loudly. Dawn Marie lifted the chair high again, and looked down into the raised dead eyes of the zombie.

"Go to hell!" she cried, bringing the chair down with a further sickening crunch against the undead man's skull. It was enough of a shock to his brain, and he collapsed beside the fallen Paul Heyman. Dawn Marie dropped the chair on the counter and held a shaking hand over her mouth. Paul Heyman had been a close friend for years and now he was dead. Killed by a zombie! Dawn Marie wasn't stupid – she immediately assumed that the man had been suffering from some sort of Rabies like virus, maybe a bio-  
weapon of some sort.

She stepped back hurriedly, knocking the back room door fully open. In the disease was airborne, she might already be infected.

"I'm not going out like that. No way." She shook her head resolutely, ignoring the tremor in her voice, "No goddamn way."

In the darkness of the room behind her, something stirred. It moved painfully across the floor behind the WWE diva, drawn by the noise and the fresh blood. It had been human (at least, Texan,) once. Dawn Marie heard a groan behind her and grabbed her bloodied chair, spinning around to face the darkness. She saw movement and raised her chair, her weapon. Anger flared inside her.

"Come on, you son of a bitch. I've got your cure right here."

"Brains…"

She didn't scream until Paul grabbed her ankle from behind, and pulled her off of her feet.

The End


End file.
